Let It Snow
by BrittFaceNess
Summary: The world's only consulting detective and his best friend on a snowy day.  just some random cuteness


_**a/n:**_** Something I found lying around on my computer from back in December, which I decided to finish.**

**Just some cuteness~**

**Enjoy~**

**Review!**

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><p><strong>...<strong>

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John Watson stepped out of 221b Baker Street's front door and immediately froze (a complete figure of speech, even though it was the middle of winter). He had in no way known that it snowed the night before (for it was early morning now). No wonder it had been colder than usual trying to get to sleep – even with two more blankets piled on top of him.

As John turned to yell for his flat mate, the dark-haired man appeared before he could say his name.

"Yes, John. It's snow. Atmospheric water vapored formed at a temperate of less than thirty-two degrees. I thought you would know that." He mumbled.

John pursed his lips at Sherlock. "Yes, but I-"

"Never mind that right now," Sherlock interrupted as he tugged on a pair of gloves, "Lestrade is waiting for us at the crime scene."

"Crime scene?" John hadn't heard of this information until now. Sherlock always had this thought in his head that John would follow him every single time like a puppy.

"Yes. Are you coming?" A hint of impatience streamed through his deep voice.

But Sherlock was right (like he always was) and John couldn't deny it. "Of course I am."

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><p>They rode in the taxi cab in complete silence. It was something John was absolutely used to and comfortable with by now – but this silence unnerved him a bit. He glanced over at Sherlock for about the hundredth time since they entered the cab. Sherlock had his arms crossed with his gaze locked onto the outside world.<p>

The consulting detective seemed to be lost in deep thought. Whatever about, John didn't know. He never knew what was going on inside that amazing mind of his. Finally, he concluded it was probably related to the case, and gave up.

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><p>It was still extremely chilly out as the two men made their way towards the crime scene. The taxi could only drop them off a couple blocks away due to the area being restricted. Sherlock turned his coat collar up, burrowing deeper into the scarf wrapped securely around his neck. He hated the snow, the cold. It wasn't winter that got him into a bad mood, it was the snow. Rain, he could handle. Sherlock actually preferred rain – it soothed his mind and allowed him to think better. But no, today it had to snow.<p>

A glance to his left and he watched as the ex-army doctor pulled his jacket closer to his body. John loved the snow – Sherlock knew this for sure. The facial expression he had worn when first seeing the white fluff outside was of amazement and adoration. Even now, John looked content and happy. What made him so in love with this kind of weather? It was completely and utterly horrid.

Sherlock did his best to avoid the wet, sloppy mess on the streets as they continued walking. The last thing he wanted was to have wet shoes. The snow was piled high along the curbs, and in the grass along the sidewalks, making this task even harder.

"Sherlock!"

The detective took into account several details at once. John, who had been walking at this side, was suddenly gone. The voice was obviously John's, though it came from behind. Was that a trace of pain? Twirling around on his heel, Sherlock braced himself for an attack –

And was met with a faceful of sloshy, cold snow.

Sherlock sputtered and wiped his face quickly, the snow now dripping from his glove-covered hands. "J-John!" He gasped out he ex-army doctor's name in surprise.

John was giggling away, laughing so much that he was bent forward, hands braced on his knees. "You should have seen yourself!"

Sherlock's anger flared. "John! I thought you were in trouble! I thought someone-" But the detective's words were drowned by more of the doctor's giggling.

With a clenched jaw, the raven-haired man scooped snow into his hands and clumsily formed a ball. Before John could react, it had already hit his mid-section. Instead of anger, which Sherlock had expected, he was met with a delighted grin.

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><p>Lestrade glanced up when hearing the familiar voices of Sherlock Holmes and Dr. John Watson. He shoved his hands deeper into his coat pockets, for he had been waiting outside for nearly thirty minutes now. Sherlock was never late to a crime scene, and the detective inspector wondered what had taken him so long.<p>

His questions were answered when he saw the two men trudging up the path, and couldn't help but to laugh.

Sherlock's hair was wet and matted to his head, starting to curl dangerously in every which way. His scarf and coat held bits of snow, some spots already soaked through. When he walked, Lestrade swore he could hear water in his shoes.

John, on the other hand, was completely dry except for a small spot on his jacket. He was grinning from ear-to-ear.

Right when the D.I. was about to ask, Sherlock gave a sharp shake of his head. "Don't ask. Now where's the body?"

As he led the two into the crime scene area, he could hear the doctor's laughing and Sherlock attempting to shut him up.


End file.
